The Hinges of Destiny
by Calico
Summary: Husbands, mothers, friends, lovers – the cost of peace was high in Libria. This is the story of the choices that led to its downfall.
1. Chapter 1

_**The Hinges of Destiny**_

**Author's Note**: I don't know if anyone reads _Equilibrium_ stories anymore, but I'd written part of this many years ago and just felt the urge to expand and complete it. The title comes from the quote, _Choices are the hinges of destiny_, attributed to Pythagoras.

**Summary**: Husbands, mothers, friends, lovers – the cost of peace was high in Libria. This is the story of the choices that led to its downfall.

I – Five Years Ago

Desperate footfalls echoed along the bleak and narrow corridors that wove a maze beneath the Librian Learning Annex as a woman – wild-eyed and breathing heavily – anxiously rushed towards the command center. Her brown hair fell loose around flushed cheeks and she wore an ill-fitting hand-made dress that had lost what little color it ever possessed; her state-sanctioned wardrobe along with the bulk of their possessions had to be left behind when they fully committed to joining the Resistance three months ago, and while it was never the height of fashion (even for Libria) it did have a quality befitting their previous social status.

Often at night she would lay awake in bed and mentally recount all the amenities she had given up coming down here. Even post Prozium withdrawal they had lived a good life, dangerous to be sure, but comfortable. Down here it was cold, dull, crowded…but then he would pull her close in his sleep and she would lay her head on his chest. Above ground every touch, every glance, could be a death sentence, and Jack was the one thing she would not – could not – give up.

She cursed the dank and claustrophobic sanctuary as she prayed to a previously unknown deity that her worst fears had not come true. She was given a wide berth as she flew down the halls.

Skidding to a stop in front of Jurgen's office, she gasped as she attempted to catch her breath. Men spilled out of the open door in an impromptu conference of the resistance leader and his lieutenants. Three men, looking ragged and one covered in blood, stood off to one corner. One of them noticed her and quickly snatched his eyes away. She tried to listen in on the quiet words inside, but a large man she barely remembered prevented her from moving any closer. He was resolute in his silence as she begged for information.

The agonizing wait was cut short when most of the group filed out of the room solemnly, not one eye able to meet hers. She knew she was mostly ignored, and often outright disliked among the close community beneath the city, but this didn't bode well at all.

"Let her enter," Jurgen's soft voice called out.

The barricade stepped aside, and she moved into the room. The three disheveled men still waited quietly by Jurgen's desk staring intently at their shoes. Jurgen himself sat behind the desk, hands clasped together. For the first time someone looked directly at her. "Sit down," he said softly.

"No," she moaned despite herself, unsure if she was refusing the instruction or in denial of the truth, maybe both. She tried to look at the three men, silently begging them to tell her something hopeful despite the grime and blood that caked their clothes.

Jurgen called her name and then cleared his throat. "I am sorry to inform you –"

She clapped her hands to her ears even as the tears spilled down her cheeks. "Stop! If you can't tell me without your canned speech, don't bother."

Wordlessly Jurgen motioned for the men to leave them. He stood up and closed the door after the last had departed. He leaned his back against the door and crossed his hands over his chest with a sigh. "It was an ambush. They," he nodded his head towards the door, "were the only ones to make it back in one piece."

She looked at him desperately. "Jack?"

Jurgen shook his head. "The Clerics have him."

"So he's still alive?" she gasped, a small kernel of hope in her chest.

"Only until they make room in the incinerator."

She moaned, finally dropped into the chair, and began rocking gently back and forth.

Jurgen made no attempt to console her. "He was a good man. And a good friend." Her breathing hitched as she sobbed into her clenched fist. "I know it hurts now and, trust me, it is supposed to, but it will ease with time and I hope the knowledge of his sacrifice for our cause will provide you with a small comfort."

The sobbing stopped and she turned towards him. "It doesn't," she hissed. "You called him your friend? Yet you sent him to his death. He was a doctor, not a soldier! He didn't belong in this war."

Jurgen's jaw tightened. "Everyone who wants to be free belongs in it."

"I don't! I was here for him."

"I know that. But now you've got to be strong now. Fight those that did this to him."

She flew from the chair to face him, finger poking his chest. "You did this to him!" Biting her lip, she took a step back. "I can't do this. I can't _feel_ like this. I'm going to die inside."

"Emotions are still new to you, and it can be frightening. It's natural and you will survive, but you need to let it run its course."

"Let me out."

Jurgen frowned. "I understand you need to be alone."

"No. Let me outside. I can't stay here."

"You won't survive out there."

"I'll take my chances."

"Listen to me, you will be a danger not only to yourself, but to everything we've accomplished. That Jack accomplished. There are lives at stake."

"Are you saying I'm a prisoner?"

"Of course not. Go to your room and sleep on it. If you feel the same in the morning we'll smuggle you into the Nethers."

"There's no Interval in the Nethers," she said thickly.

Bringing his hand to his temple, Jurgen sighed. "Get some sleep." He moved aside and held the door open for her. "Hiding your emotions doesn't make them disappear."

"I hate you," she said as she passed. "That will never disappear."

* * *

The following morning Jurgen sat at his desk perusing the newest issue of _Father's Voice_ that had been left in the library. There was never any actual news in it, except for the occasional coded message sent by an agent on the writing staff.

There was a quick knock at the door, then without waiting for an answer a young man poked his head inside, a chagrined look on his face. "She's gone. And it gets worse."

"How could it get worse?" Jurgen asked knowing full well it could.

"She was spotted entering an Equilibrium Center as soon as the doors opened."

Jurgen shook his head ruefully. "What are the chances of a citizen who has been off the grid for three months walking up to the counter and receiving a fresh PIU with injections without anybody raising the alarm?"

With a shrug the other man replied, "About the same as you being appointed Vice-council." He closed the door behind him.

Alone again, Jurgen knew his first order of business was security; second was damage control. He glanced at the pamphlet he'd been reading. The coded message spoke of a Cleric that may be sympathetic to the cause, may even be offending already. This would be a major coup. He had his work cut out for him.


	2. Chapter 2

II – Four Years Ago

She was cold.

The concrete walls were poor insulation and the gunmetal gray chair felt like an ice block beneath the thin gown prisoners were issued. The harsh lighting provided no heat and only served to coat everything in a sickening frosty sheen.

Twenty-four hours since Viviana's arrest. There was the humiliating strip search; the begging for food at midnight because no one bothered to bring her dinner; and the inhuman looks of the Tetragrammaton's finest. But by far the worst part was the waiting, because the end of her life's journey was nearing and she certainly wouldn't be complaining about the cold then.

Sitting in the interrogation room, feeling what remained of her body heat seep into the frigid air, she felt miles away from herself, from everything she had believed in just two short days ago. But that was the point. It wasn't enough Father's goons had to snuff out any sign of life and culture, they had to break you first, make you deny all that had been important.

She hung her head, letting the dark hair cover her face, and whispered one word, "Home." It was safe, at least as safe as you could be in the heart of Libria. How foolish she had been. He couldn't protect her; he couldn't even protect himself.

The door opened with a loud bang that reverberated in her head like a gong. She felt sick to her stomach, tired, and weak. One foot was already in the grave; the furnaces just tidied things up.

Grammaton Cleric Second Class John Preston took the seat opposite her, set aside a metal file folder, and clasped his hands together on the table. She hadn't been expecting this.

With an audible swallow she said, "What are you doing here?" The smallest flutter of hope took root in her stomach despite herself. The small voice reminded her how he'd come to her aide…at least until he'd been told the truth.

John's eyes darted sideways for a moment before saying, "The Council believes you will speak to me more freely. That you'll confess the extent of your crimes and name your accomplices."

Oh really, she thought sourly. "I don't have any accomplices," she replied in a low defeated voice.

"You must," he said evenly.

Viviana felt the tears, biting down hard on her lip. "Don't you care!" she yelled, slamming a fist down on the table. "Don't you feel anything? I'm your wife, the mother of your children, and you have nothing to say to me? Yell at me, John! I've embarrassed you! I've hurt your chances at a promotion! Aren't you angry?!"

John took a deep breath, and then said, "It is a rather disappointing match. I should initiate an inquiry into the Department of Marriage and Family's testing requirements."

"Disappointing match?" Viviana repeated, incredulous; while most marriages were founded on a compatibility score of 54-76%, theirs had been an astounding 93%. "Yes, I can see that." She sat back against the chair, ignoring the shock of the cold through the thin material on her back. "But our children? Surely you can't just disregard them? Look into your son's face! Tell me that doesn't stir something deep down?"

"If you are not going to cooperate, there is no point in continuing this. Perhaps clinical interrogation will be more successful." He stood and gathered the metal file that held her picture inside.

A sudden panic filled her chest and she leapt up. "No! I do have something to confess!" She flew around the table and grasped his arm peering into his eyes. "It started when Robbie was born."

Glancing down at her hand, he firmly pried it off his arm. "Continue."

"From the moment I looked at him I…sensed something…knew that I should be feeling something. I would have gone off the dose then and there if you hadn't been so…." She bit her lip and leaned against the tabletop, which, if possible, was even colder than the chair. Goose bumps rose up and down her arms.

"You had just left the monastery, and were so…so goddamned arrogant, looking for sense offenders around every corner, trying to rise to the top. If one didn't know better they would have thought you full of pride." After hearing the bitterness in her own voice she shook her head; the interrogations were always recorded. She couldn't, even now, bear the burden of his life, especially when her children's lives were also in the balance.

"You were and are the perfect Grammaton Cleric. You've never shown a single emotional spark since the day we wed," she finished softly. "What I'm saying is, that by the time Lisa was born, you were far busier and I had more time alone. The bond couldn't have been stronger. Just holding her in my arms. My god, John, how could you not see it?" she asked sadly. "I've been off the dose ever since."

If John was affected by her admission, he showed no sign. "Disappointing," he said quietly, making a mark in her file. Angrily she snatched it out of his hand. Two enforcers burst through the door, guns raised. He waved them away. "She's no threat," he told them. "Give it back," he commanded her.

"After you've listened to me." He stood quietly and stared at her with narrow eyes. "One day. I know one day you're going to come out of this. And when you do, I want you to promise me you won't blame yourself."

He gave a humorless snort. "There's nothing to blame myself for."

Viviana nodded. "You will. And I need for you to promise me you'll remember what I said." She waited but he offered no response. "Tell Robbie and Lisa that they are the world to me. I love them with everything I have, and the memories of them are going to accompany me to a better place. And then I want you to tell yourself the same thing." His face shifted slightly, but he remained quiet. "I love you. And I know somewhere there is a man who is a good husband and a wonderful father. You will find it. You can't let Father's corruption rule you forever."

"Your sentencing is scheduled for nine am tomorrow." He seized the file from her hands and exited the room letting the door slam behind him.

She waited for the guards to return her to her cell, but instead when the door opened again it was another Cleric, newly adorned in his black First Class uniform.

Errol Partridge walked into the room slowly angling himself between Viviana and the camera high in the left corner. "Here," he spoke softly, and then pulled something out of the pocket of his coat. A small vial of amber liquid winked in the harsh light. "You'll have to ingest it," he spoke in the same soft voice. "There is no way to smuggle an injector. Drink it fifteen minutes before the sentencing. There should be enough to hold you until…" his voice trailed off, unable to speak the harsh truth.

"Errol, you shouldn't have," she whispered, but a shaking hand reached out to accept it.

"I'm sorry I can't do anything more."

She smiled at him, and then remembering the camera, turned it into a sneer. "Coming to gloat, Cleric?" she said aloud.

"I should go," he said and turned away.

"Errol," she whispered. He met her eyes again, and she said, "Take care of him."

With sadness he nodded.

"He's not a bad person," she continued.

"I know."

"I just hope someday he'll understand."

"He was born to be a Cleric. There's little you or I can do to change that." The cynicism dripped off his words.

"You did. There is always hope, Errol, otherwise, what are Jurgen and the others fighting for?"

The knuckle of his forefinger briefly touched his lips. She nodded and then he was gone.

She was escorted back to her cell to wait, and the waiting was what finally did her in. She had hoped to be strong, to face the fires of Libria's furnaces with head held high and senses fully intact. But she couldn't. She broke off the top of the vial and with closed eyes, poured the liquid down her throat. The taste made her gag.

He was there during her sentencing, but the dose had taken effect and she found herself as aloof as he was, barely registering his presence. Inside the furnace she focused on nothing. A tickle in the back of her mind said she was supposed to be thinking of something, but it hardly seemed important now.

* * *

A small boy of about six years old sat on his bed, hands folded in his lap, staring at the plain wall across from him. It had been just over 24 hours since he'd seen the woman dragged off by the Tetragrammaton. She had been arrested for Sense Crime, and he knew with perfect logic that it was for the best.

Sixth months ago he'd started attending classes at the Monastery as a novitiate, to follow in the footsteps of his father, who was generally considered to be the most exceptional Cleric the Tetragrammaton had seen in a decade. His instructors often spoke of the speed and accuracy of his father's final Kata lesson with as much reverence as was allowed by law.

The boy was well aware of the dangers presented to a society that reveled in its emotions. He could recite the long list of devastating wars that had almost wiped humans off the face of the planet. And he had spent the last five and a half years taking the dose as he had been taught, without question, to maintain Father's utopia, as all obedient Librians must.

Then why now did the injection unit sit on his bedside table untouched since last night?

A small figure appeared in the doorway. She stared blankly at him, and Robbie was acutely aware of the how wrong things were. It still seemed logical, but, maybe…maybe logic wasn't always the answer. His intuition – the very ability prized in a good Cleric – wasn't just whispering to him; it was screaming in his ear and it sounded a lot like the woman's voice. His mother's.

"Come here," he told his sister. Obediently she walked over and hauled herself onto the bed next to him. Lisa was small for her age and lacked the ability – or the desire – to speak.

He'd overheard discussions – calm and quiet, of course – between his parents debating whether she was substandard. Libria had little use for those that couldn't pull their own weight. Robbie imagined that if she hadn't shown signs of improvement by her fifth birthday she would have been taken away. Inexplicably, the thought caused a sharp contraction in his chest and he frowned.

"Did you take your interval this morning?" he asked her.

Her eyes flicked to the left and she nodded briefly.

He glanced to his own unused unit and he reached out and pulled it to him. Popping the cover he showed her the intact vials. Lisa's eyes widened.

Licking his lips, Robbie said, "I've been thinking." He drew a finger lightly down the black case. It surprised him to realize how cold it was. "I think…I think it might not be the best thing for us. I…" Robbie wasn't sure exactly what he was trying to say, or to whom he was trying to say it. Surely his mute three-year-old sister wasn't the best sounding board, but he wasn't going to do this without her, either, and logically she should have a chance to decide on her own. "You may not realize it now, but I'm not sure this is helping us…maybe all of Libria?" Confusion was flustering him. This couldn't be right, it would get him killed.

Lisa tugged at his arm and glanced at the doorway anxiously. Shaking his head, he said automatically, "He didn't know about Viviana, did he?" She still looked vaguely unsettled. Robbie regarded her for a moment and began to wonder if her dose had never been properly adjusted, or if…. "Lisa, are you feeling already?" he whispered into her ear.

After a moment's hesitation she shrugged. "Did Viviana know?" he asked. She shrugged again and gnawed on her thumb. "It's all right," he told her. "I won't hurt you."

She began to kick her heels against the bed, making a soft, uneven rhythm while her tiny hands twisted together in front of her face. Finally, he heard a muffled voice say, "Frère Jacques."

"What?" he said in surprise.

She turned to look at him and he noticed just how wide her eyes were. Barely whispering she started to sing, voice cracking intermittently:

_Frère Jacques  
Frère Jacques  
Dormez-vous?  
Dormez-vous?  
Sonnez les matines  
Sonnez les matines  
Ding, ding, dong  
Ding, ding, dong_

As her soft voice trailed off, Robbie couldn't contain the look of surprise on his face. Several questions jammed themselves into his brain at once. "You can speak? What did that mean? Where did you learn it?"

Her mouth twisted a bit and then she replied quietly, "It's a song momma taught me to help me talk."

"Why haven't you spoken before?" She simply shrugged again. "But you would talk to Viv…Mother?" She nodded shyly and picked at the hem of her dress.

Robbie sighed and fell quiet, lost in his confused thoughts – so much was going on around him he didn't understand. Absently he reached up and scratched his head. He became absorbed in the feeling of the hair sliding between his finger and the trail of his fingertips across his scalp. Then he dropped his hand and ran it over the rough bed cover, feeling the coarse fabric beneath his palm until it tingled. Even the dim grayness of their room grabbed his attention for a moment.

"Okay. I don't know how we're going to do this," he told Lisa; she reached over and clutched his hand between hers. They were surprisingly warm. "But we'll do it together, right?"

"Right," she whispered. And then, "Do you know when she's going to be home?"

"I…don't know," Robbie answered reluctantly, unable to reveal the truth to her.

They sat for a while in silence until the sound of the front door opening made them both jump.

"Careful," Robbie growled as much to himself as his sister. "You should get to bed," he told her.

With a nod, she slid off the bed and walked over to her own and after a few moments her soft breathing told him she had drifted off, completely unfettered by the anxiety that was plaguing him. In the meantime he heard sounds coming from the kitchen, the tapping of things being placed on the table.

Robbie pushed himself off the bed and walked quietly into the kitchen. John was sitting at the table, guns spread out before him. One had been completely stripped down and he was beginning to clean and oil it. Almost instantly John's eyes looked towards the darkened doorway.

"Want to help?" he asked as he purposefully wiped the barrel. He had changed from the Cleric uniform and sat in a plain dark t-shirt, hair slightly mussed.

According to John it was never too early for a future Cleric to learn proper weapons maintenance, and one of Robbie's earliest memories was of listening to his father's instruction.

Robbie quietly slipped into the chair next to his father's and picked up the second black pistol. It was heavy and cold in his hands. With a deft flick of a thumb, he pressed the release and the slide popped loose. Out of the corner of his eye he watched John for any signs of…what? Regret? Suspicion?

"John?" he asked, suppressing any hesitation.

"Yes?"

"Do you think it would be possible if I could speak with Viviana?"

John's hands paused. "Why?"

Heart fluttering in his chest, Robbie managed to say, "I thought it would be good research into the mind of a Sense Offender. Docent Sommers tells us never to miss an opportunity to learn about the enemy." He could feel sweat dripping down his back. John would know. He had to know. It was his job to know.

After a terrifying moment of thought, John nodded his head and resumed cleaning. "Excellent idea. However there's no time. The incineration is scheduled for tomorrow morning."

"Oh." The air suddenly froze around Robbie and he could only clench his jaw and force his hands to continue working.

"I interviewed her today," John told him as he gently pushed a small wire brush into the barrel. There was a loud clatter as the other gun slipped from Robbie's hands. John looked at him sharply. "Be careful with that."

"Yes, sir," Robbie muttered as he silently wondered how – or why – John was able to interrogate a prisoner considering it was a duty reserved for First Class Clerics.

As if reading his mind, John said, "The Council thought since she was obviously sympathetic towards me she might be more willing to give up information."

Robbie shuddered at the callous voice.

"Unfortunately," John continued, "she was uncooperative." He turned to look directly at Robbie. "Did you ever see her speaking to anyone suspicious? Visitors? Phone calls?"

He concentrated on the weapon in his hands, the smell of the gun oil, the smooth coolness of the metal. Even as the words left his father's mouth a face was pushed forward from his memories. His recall was perfect, even if it was only a brief moment in time. Viviana saying almost too loudly, "I'm sorry, Cleric Partridge, he's already left for the office."

"No, sir," he said impassively. "I didn't notice anything."

John stared at him a moment, and then with fluid, confident movements reassembled the gun and pushed a clip home. "I hear you're going to have your first Kata lesson tomorrow."

"Yes, we are," Robbie replied slightly nonplussed as he finished with the gun in his hand. "In the afternoon."

John nodded, stood up, and gathered the guns together. "I think I'll stop by after…the…combustion," he started with the barest hint of hesitation. "I want to make sure the docents are giving your class the proper instruction. If you start out with a lazy Kata, it could cost you your life."

"Yes, sir," Robbie said with a dry mouth.

John paused at the doorway and they locked eyes. Stay calm, Robbie thought. Stay calm and stay alive. But just as he was certain his father was going to raise one of the guns towards him, John said, "Good night."


	3. Chapter 3

III – Three Months Ago

Robbie attempted to keep his composure as he half-carried half-dragged his sister into the Libria Medical Center. The only other time he had been here was for the physical required before his acceptance into the monastery. Three years later the building seemed larger, colder, and more unpleasant, like most of Libria had become since ceasing his dose. The edifice's sharp angles and sweeping concrete did little to inspire faith in the healers within. Despite the Tetragrammaton's noblest efforts at controlling its citizens, it could not control disease, disaster, or even gravity.

Allowing himself the smallest sigh, Robbie looked down at Lisa. Her eyes were red and wet as she clutched her left arm against her small body, but her mouth was set in a firmly neutral line. It was Saturday, so there were no classes at monastery. He had remained home to watch after Lisa while John had gone about his normal business. He had submerged himself in his studies while she occupied herself with Father's ever-present speeches on the Video. But she had become bored, roaming around the apartment, until she had started climbing on the sofa, which lead to jumping on the sofa, higher and higher, as the air was interposed with her cheerful laughter. Robbie knew he should have stopped her, but he also knew she had so few opportunities to laugh, and he had simply paused in his studies to watch. Unfortunately her foot slipped on the edge of the sofa and she tumbled painfully onto the table with a sickening crack of her arm.

"We're here," he whispered to her. "It won't be much longer."

"It hurts," she said quietly, and he knew she was fighting back tears. Pride surged in his chest for her. Robbie had never broken a bone before, but he remembered when Samuel Forbes caught him in the face with an elbow during a Kata lesson last week. That pain had been so acute his whole body throbbed along with it for days. Somehow he'd managed to get through the lesson without so much as a grimace, but it took the most supreme concentration. Now his baby sister was exhibiting the same fortitude.

The man sitting at the high desk facing them as they walked through the entrance hall barely spared them a glance. Quick fingers moved across the keyboard of his computer as he asked, "What is the nature of your visit?"

"My sister has injured her arm."

"Name?"

"Preston, Robert J."

"_Her_ name."

"Preston, Lisa A."

"Guardian?"

"Excuse me?"

"Who is her guardian?" The man finally glanced down and looked them over. "Who is responsible for your upbringing?"

"Our father is John Preston, Cleric First Class of the Tetragrammaton." Robbie wanted to kick himself the moment the words had come out.

"Cleric, hmm?" The man said with faint interest. "One who lets his children run around the city unsupervised?"

The man's narrowed eyes and smug tone caused Robbie's jaws to clench. His back straightened and he said in a commanding voice, "I am a level 10 novitiate at the Monastery. If the Tetragrammaton believes that I am worthy of such an honor, I suggest you should as well."

This seemed to deflate any interest the man held and he quickly finished their intake with questions pertaining only to the nature of her injury. Pulling a piece of paper from the printer on his desk, he swept it towards Robbie and the gestured towards a bank of elevators to their right.

"Fourth floor. They'll be waiting." Robbie felt a familiar chill of dread as the slightly threatening words reached him, but he'd become more and more used to it, realizing it was just a symptom of his constant anxiety, though it was never a bad idea to be on guard.

The hospital's motif was little changed on the fourth floor, though the greeter – a young woman this time – was infinitely less threatening. Her voice was soft, almost kind, as she repeated the same questions he'd heard downstairs.

When she was satisfied she picked up the phone on her desk and spoke softly into it. After only a momentary delay, another woman appeared from down the long corridor to their left. The paper Robbie had brought upstairs had been inserted into a metal folder and this was now handed to the new arrival.

Her face was blank as she scanned the information, and then she looked at them much as the man downstairs had. Her dark hair was pulled back on her head as was traditional for all Librian women and she wore the customary white uniform of a medical worker, though without the formal badge of a doctor.

"My name is Nurse Ashburn. Follow me, please," she said sharply and turned on her heel.

Robbie and Lisa walked behind her until she reached a door to an exam room that she held open for them.

"Is it ok if I stay with her?" Robbie asked mildly, aware that the remotest flicker of concern could be deadly.

The nurse's sharp eyes held his own for a moment and then she said, "Suit yourself."

They were ushered inside and the door was closed. "Can you get her on the table?" the nurse asked walking away to set the file on a counter. Robbie nodded and turned towards Lisa, placing his hands as gently as possible under her arms, and lifted. He was strong enough to raise her, but as soon as she bumped the edge of the table she let out a strangled cry. Panic filled him and he immediately placed himself defensively between Lisa and the woman.

Nurse Ashburn slowly turned to them eyeing the two children for a moment, her mouth moving imperceptibly. Then she calmly moved to the door and snapped the lock into place. Robbie's heart sank, worried that they were being trapped to await arrest, and immediately began planning escape maneuvers. However, instead of picking up a phone to notify the authorities, she simply walked around the well-stocked room picking up supplies and placing them on a rolling silver tray.

Robbie watched her warily, still physically blocking Lisa from her, until she finally said, "Pain is not an emotion; fear is. So wipe that look off your face, boy." The words were not spoken with any particular kindness, but Robbie still found himself more at ease, if slightly confused.

The nurse dragged a stool and the tray up to the exam table and made a motion for him to step aside. Reluctantly he did so and she sat down on the stool, gently taking the girl's arm in her hands. As she examined it lightly, Robbie held Lisa's other hand, which gripped his tightly. Picking up a syringe off the tray at her side, she said, "So your name is Lisa? You can call me Kate." When the child did not reply, she continued smoothly while prepping the syringe. "I know that hurts pretty badly and I'm going to do something about it if you can just be brave a little longer, ok?"

Lisa nodded, her eyes large and bright as they watched Kate fill the syringe from a vial of clear liquid. "So what do you like to eat for breakfast?" she asked conversationally.

To Robbie's surprise, Lisa replied, "Cereal. But only when Momma put the sweet stuff on it."

"Sugar?" Kate asked with a raised eyebrow. "That's EC-10. Now where did she get that?"

Lisa shrugged her good arm.

Having finished filling the syringe, Kate said, "All right, now it's time for you to be brave. You've been very quiet so far, so give me just another minute of that. This will burn, but it will be over very quickly and then we can finish up a lot more comfortably. Is everyone ready?" She looked at each of them and they both nodded. Lisa didn't make a sound as the long silver needle first depressed and then pierced the skin of her arm. Robbie felt his own heart pounding in sympathy.

"There. Now we'll give that a few minutes and then x-ray it."

As he watched the nurse occupy herself around the room setting up the x-ray machine he was filled with questions.

"Are you -"

"No," she replied quickly without looking at him.

"You don't even know what I was going to say."

"It's one of two things. The answer to both is no."

"So you're not going to turn us in?" he asked, needing to hear it out loud.

"Of course not," she replied as if it were most obvious. "I'm not a monster."

Breathing a sigh of relief, he pressed on. "But you haven't ceased your dose?"

She shook her head. "Every day, every twelve hours, like a good Librian should."

"I don't understand," Robbie said as she pulled the long arm of a machine down from the ceiling and placed it over Lisa's arm. "You seem to be feeling?"

Still not looking at him, Kate replied, "Everyone feels, boy." She pressed a button causing the heart of the x-ray to whine and then click for a second. Then she briefly left the room, taking care to look both ways down the corridor before exiting. Upon her return she carried a dark film with the reversed white image on it. Holding it up to the light she muttered, "Nice."

Unable to contain his curiosity, Robbie continued to question her. "But the Prozium. It's supposed to suppress our emotions?"

"Suppress, not eliminate. Most people spend their whole lives not experiencing anything more than a vague happiness that they're still not dead. But once in a while something happens." She looked at him. "Take you for instance. You certainly didn't wake up one morning and decide you didn't want to dose. What happened?"

With a swallow, he said, "Our mother was arrested and processed."

"Hmm," Kate said in response as she positioned Lisa's arm into an angled splint. "Caught buying contraband sugar, no doubt."

"It's just that ever since then I've had this thought that something was wrong with the way we live. If I just had someone to talk to, to figure out what we're supposed to do…"

Kate looked up at Robbie and said sharply, "Someone like the Resistance?"

"I-I don't know…maybe," he replied unsure of himself but suddenly hopeful.

"Then I ought to turn you in for your own good. Associating with those lunatics is suicide."

"You don't agree with what they're trying to do?"

"Hardly. Take a good look around you: do you have food to eat? A bed to sleep in? Medical care? Read up on history. The Resistance has no means in place of supplying these things. Like all revolutionaries that have come before, they're only concerned with their immediate goals and not the long term affects of change they are so desperate for.

"You want some advice? Here it is, one time only: go back on your dose. Stop risking your life - and hers. You'll find you remember the feelings even if you can't quite get in touch with them. But more importantly you'll find waking up so much easier when you're not suddenly reminded of your loss and feel like half your guts have been torn out.

"Most of what Father says is gibberish, but one thing he's absolutely right about – the highs and lows are not worth it. They're just. Not. Worth it. Take it from someone who knows."

The room was silent as she focused her attention on Lisa's arm and Robbie asked quietly, "What happened?"

The nurse seemed not to hear him as she continued to wrap the cast. Finally she replied, "My husband died, much like your mother."

"Oh," was all Robbie seemed to manage in response, while Lisa placed her uninjured hand on top of the nurse's head. Finally he said, "You've never considered going off for a little while, just to see how it feels?"

"Never again." Without another word she finished the cast and began cleaning up the supplies around her. After washing her hands she told him, "It was a very clean break and should heal well. Bring her back in three weeks for a check-up."

"To see you?" he asked hopefully.

"No, not me. You are never to see me again. Ever. Is that understood? This conversation never happened." He nodded in understanding as she continued. "And you need to take better care of her. Children get hurt, yes, but a young boy taking care of his sister alone is a little unusual. You don't want to make your presence known to the wrong people, do you?" Gently she turned Lisa's head and examined behind her ears. "And for pity's sake, keep her clean. It looks like the Nethers back here."

Robbie nodded solemnly while Lisa let out a giggle hidden behind her now-casted hand. Kate's face softened and she said, "Life at home must be pretty dull if you think that's funny." She pursed her lips for a moment and then withdrew a pen from the pocket of her tunic. "Have you ever drawn?" she asked Lisa, who shook her head in response.

Kate pulled a blank lab form from the metal chart and folded it over leaving only the two halves of the back exposed. On one of the halves she began scribbling in short, quick strokes. Robbie and Lisa watched, enraptured. After a few moments she stopped and showed them the paper. A crude image of an animal Robbie recognized from one of his monastery books, one long extinct, something called an elephant. The simple image had exaggerated the eyes and mouth to make the rendering appear as though it were smiling.

Lisa was mesmerized by it and Kate handed her the paper. "It's just something I saw in a book once," she said in a tired voice as she capped the pen. "Here, you take this. Maybe your brother can sneak you some paper and help you hide your work." Carefully she took Lisa's casted arm and slid the pen inside the space at the inner wrist, followed by the paper that she'd folded several more times. "This will do for now."

She ran her hand gently over Lisa's hair, and then said, "I don't like repeating myself, but every day you go without your interval you're risking her life." Her voice had lost much of the sharpness from before; now she sounded only weary and resigned.

Suddenly the doorknob jiggled as someone attempted to enter. Finding it locked there came a loud pounding and Robbie jumped as he heard his father's voice call out, "Open up in the name of the Tetragrammaton!"

Kate remained impassive, a benefit from continuing the dose, he supposed. "I'll be out in a moment," she called towards the door. To the children she said, "This is it. Good luck and I never want to see you again." She gave them a curt nod and a tight smile before walking to the door where the pounding had started again in earnest.

"Open this door, now! You have until the count of ten-"

"Cleric," she greeted their father mildly as she opened the door, his fist still raised in midair.

Lowering his hand, John Preston looked carefully inside and asked, "Why was this door locked?"

"To keep out interruptions, of course."

Preston watched her closely, no doubt trying to detect the slightest sign she could be a sense offender, Robbie thought. He also looked slightly nonplussed, but Robbie was sure that was just his imagination running away with him. John turned away from her and approached the examination table. "What happened?" he asked Lisa severely.

"She was trying to get a glass from the topmost shelf of the cabinet and slipped off the chair," Robbie hurriedly filled in.

John cast him a quick glance then turned back to Lisa. "Why would you do something so dangerous instead of asking your brother to get it?" The young girl shrugged, but maintained a steady face.

"I have already lectured her on every citizen's responsibility to minimize all risks that would make them a burden on society and cause undue strain on available resources."

John nodded appreciably. "Excellent. And good job taking charge of the situation yourself."

"Thank you, sir. I did not want to disturb you for such a trivial matter."

"Yes, well word got to me anyway," John replied. He took a close look at Lisa's casted arm. "Nurse, I'd like to speak to the doctor who treated her."

"That would be me."

"Why? Where is the doctor?"

"There isn't one. I am in charge of this floor. I assure you I am more than qualified to treat minor injuries and have many years of experience. Unfortunately, we have to make do with what staff is available since certified doctors are scarce these days. They keep getting incinerated faster than they can be trained."

Preston's face barely registered the change, but Robbie could tell John was suspicious, attempting to use his intuitive arts training. "I'm not sure I like your tone, nurse."

"Apologies, Cleric. It was not my intention to offend. I was simply stating a fact."

Preston continued to stare at her. "You're hiding something."

"Am I? If you find it, please let me know."

"Let me see your PIU."

"As you wish, Cleric, I certainly have nothing to hide. But we both know the units can be circumvented. I'll make it easier for you." She walked over to the counter and pulled open a drawer. From inside she retrieved an empty syringe. She uncapped the syringe and without blinking stuck it into the crook of her left arm. Then as she looked directly at Preston, she slowly pulled the plunger back until almost half of the syringe was filled with blood. Withdrawing the needle from her arm, she recapped it and handed it to the cleric. "More than enough for you to test. Let me know if you have any questions."

"Perhaps we should continue this conversation at the Palace of Justice."

Robbie was sure he saw her shiver. "Not today," she said hoarsely. "Do your tests. You know where to find me. Good day, Cleric." Grabbing the folder off the counter so quickly it made an audible snap, she marched from the room.

John looked after her, still holding the syringe. Robbie held his breath as he expected his father to charge after and arrest her, but he did not. The syringe was slipped into his pocket and he picked Lisa up off the table and carried her out of the room in the crook of his arm. For a small moment Robbie let himself believe John was comforting her before following them out.


	4. Chapter 4

III – cont.

Preston sat down at his desk. He had dropped the children back at the apartment. The girl had already fallen asleep in his arms and he had put her directly to bed, and then gave instructions for the boy to see to her supper, even though Preston knew he would anyway. Then he drove to the Equilibrium center closest to his office and left the blood to be tested, top priority with the results to be delivered to him immediately. Now he loaded up the search program and entered her name.

He was taken aback when the database immediately informed him that he did not have the necessary clearance to access the file.

Preston blinked at the screen, and then tried again. The large flashing red exclamation point was unwavering.

Calmly, Preston rose from his desk and walked the length of the room towards the back where the Chief Administrator of the Tetragrammaton kept an office. Administrator Blanchard oversaw all Clerics and other Tetragrammaton staff and reported directly to the Vice Council.

"Sir," Preston said after he had been granted entrance to the office.

"What is it, Preston?" Blanchard asked.

"I'm starting an investigation on a suspicious person, and am not able to access her history in the database."

"Why not? If this is some sort of technical difficulty…"

"No, sir, it says I don't have clearance."

The administrator's eyebrow rose inquisitively. "What is the name?"

"Ashburn, Kate. She is a nurse at the Medical Center."

The Administrator finished typing the name in and stared at the screen for a few moments. "Why are you investigating this woman?"

"I met her this afternoon. Her demeanor was defiant. Almost hostile."

"So she has not committed any crime?"

"None that I've discovered yet. I've already submitted her blood for testing to see if she's properly dosing."

"You did what?" the administrator asked, face becoming slightly pale.

"Sir?"

"There is nothing to investigate here, Preston. Have that sample destroyed and any results you find. Am I clear?"

"Not entirely, sir. Is it not my job to root out offenders?"

"Yes it is, and you have actual crimes to investigate. This report just came in this morning." Blanchard handed him a sheet of paper. "Ashburn is not your problem unless you find any real evidence of sense crime, and I assure you, you won't."

Preston took the report and hesitated. "Yes, sir," he said finally and returned to his desk.

On the way there the young technician from the Equilibrium Center walked towards him quickly. "Cleric!" he called out waving a piece of paper. "I have those results you asked for."

"That was expedient," Preston replied, pursing his lips. He knew he should tell the tech to return and destroy it. "What did you find?"

"This subject is definitely dosing," the technician replied with a shake of his head. "In fact, this is the highest concentration of Prozium I've seen in any sample I've ever tested."

"What does that mean?"

"This person is either dosing much more frequently than normal, or their dose is exceptionally potent. So potent that I would question it if I were to do the refill."

Preston began formulating questions, but remembered his orders. "Thank you. Now take this and destroy it along with the sample and any other records you've made of it."

"As you wish, Cleric" the tech replied in confusion.

* * *

The sun was only just beginning to set as Kate stepped out of the Medical Center after her shift had finally come to an end. Despite her tired feet she chose to walk the entire way home instead of riding the transport. It wasn't, she told herself, because the sky was particularly engaging this evening. Nor was it an attempt to shake any sense of disquiet that settled over her after her confrontation with the cleric earlier.

This wasn't the first cleric she'd encountered since her reintegration. The fear, the anger, always threatened to overwhelm her. No amount of emotion-dulling drug could erase the memories of her incarceration or the pain of losing Jack. The slightly elevated pulse in her temple told her it was time for another dose, but her watch insisted it was over an hour away. From past experience, she knew the long walk home would be the only thing to keep her from prematurely firing the PIU.

Forty-five minutes later she approached the front door of her building with a bag of food for the evening's meal. A small sigh escaped her lips as she turned to walk up the steps. It was the same building she had lived with Jack, though in a different unit. By the time she'd reached the eighth floor her feet were pounding fiercely and her stomach growling, but neither compared to the need to dose. It occupied her thoughts so much she didn't notice the shadow hovering near the door until she was right on top of it.

"Good evening, Kate," he said smoothly as always. "I heard you had a run-in with a cleric today."

"Of course you did," she replied dryly. "Nothing happens in this city that you don't know about."

He smiled in acknowledgement. "What did you think of him?"

She looked him up and down. "The same thing I think of all of them: I wish I could kill him."

Kate opened her door and entered without offering an invitation, though that did not deter him from following her in. Jurgen was well aware that her hatred of the Tetragrammaton only rivaled her hatred of him. And as usual, he used that to his advantage. Shrugging off her coat, she turned and watched him standing quietly in the middle of the living area. "Nice."

"If you say so," she replied mildly and checked her watch. Ten minutes until the next dose. She wouldn't let herself take it early or take more than the allotted amount lest it get reported to the wrong people. Besides, Jurgen was always easier to deal with if she were slightly on edge.

The small single living unit was comprised of a large room divided into a rest area and a kitchen nook, with small sleeping and bathing rooms off to the side. She set the bag of groceries on the kitchen counter and began unloading it while Jurgen watched her intently.

"He's dangerous," Jurgen said eventually.

"Who, Preston?" He nodded. "He was just picking up his children," she told him omitting the details of their confrontation.

"He's probably the best there is at singling out offenders."

"I'm not an offender," she reminded him placing a small sauce pain on the stove. She began cutting up vegetables, her hand trembling slightly.

"But you're still in a very delicate position." He leaned against the counter. "He tried accessing your file."

"Tried?"

"Yes. Tried and failed. Clearance not high enough."

"Hmm," she said noncommittally.

"Would you know why?"

"Why on earth would I know that?" She shrugged. "The Tetragrammaton thrives on mystery and intolerance; they probably just don't want it to be common knowledge they gave someone a second chance."

"That begs the question of why they did." Jurgen sized her up for a moment before stating, "There was a raid in sector 5-H. The cell was completely wiped out."

Kate paused and looked at him directly. "And?"

"And there are questions."

"Was I directly involved with anyone in that cell?"

His jaw worked for a moment and then said, "No, not currently. But you saw Burrows two months ago. Just before he transferred out."

"Interesting. What reason would I have to help the Tetragrammaton now?"

She could see his mind working. He knew the primary reason people informed to the Tetragrammaton was to gain the privilege of not dosing, or of possessing certain EC-10 items, neither of which Kate saw as a perk.

"I see patients. If I happen to turn a blind eye on the nature of their injuries…" she shrugged. "You came to me, you traded on Jack's memory. Coincidences happen all the time." Her smile wasn't the least bit forced when she said, "Don't worry. You're still alive, aren't you? If I had given them anything important, the entire Resistance would be a fading memory." The small alarm on her watch finally sounded in the silence between them.

"So you didn't give them anything?"

Smoothly she removed her PIU from its holder on her waist and quickly loaded up the next vial of amber liquid. "I've told you before: I gave them enough to make them believe I didn't know anything really important," she admitted. Jurgen caught her eye as she was raising it to her neck and she hoped he didn't notice the tremor in her hand or the wave of relief that surged through her the moment the needle pierced her skin.

"Is it really worth it?" he asked quietly.

Setting the PIU down, she closed her eyes. Jack's face floated in her memory. She opened her eyes. "Yes it's worth it."

He smiled at her, or tried to. Kate knew his opinion of her wasn't any better than hers of him. "I'm sending someone to see you. A woman."

"What's the problem?"

"It's of a _personal_ nature."

She blinked at him. The Prozium fog had not quite settled over her and she sensed his discomfort in the discussion. Allowing herself a small smile she asked, "How far along?"

"Eight weeks."

"And I'm betting she's not registered with the Department of Family Planning?"

"No."

"Why are you dealing with this?"

"She's important."

"Important to you or to the cause?"

"What's important to the cause is important to me."

"I see. Why doesn't she just go underground?"

"It's complicated. Can you do it?"

Kate snorted and turned away from him. "Can? Yes, I can. You do know what you're asking of me?"

"I know," he replied softly.

"It's dangerous." She closed her eyes. "Friday, at four-thirty. There's a change of shift, I'll be the only one there for an hour. Have her complain of stomach cramps on the left side and nausea. Tell her she'll be losing her appendix as well."

"Alright."

"And, Jurgen," she called to him as he moved to the door. "Don't ever ask me to do this again."

"I won't. Her name is Mary. Mary O'Brien."

* * *

Kate stood in the small room that housed the floor's drug supply, clipboard in hand, doing inventory. Her hand paused on a bottle as the hair on her neck stood up. Looking slightly over her shoulder she saw him in the doorway, hands folded together in front of him, regarding her intently. He was an imposing figure in his stillness and black garb, and she wondered just how long he had been watching her.

Trying not to appear as spooked as she felt, she continued counting, and asked over her shoulder, "How is your daughter?"

"She is recuperating at an acceptable rate."

All the Prozium in Libria could not have prevented the eye roll she gave now. Such cold words. Did the man even know how lucky he was to have a child? No. The word "luck" would not even be in his vocabulary.

She turned to face him. "Did you do your testing?"

"Yes."

"And are you satisfied?"

"Why such a high dose?"

"If you had the proper authorization, you'd know the answer already."

His nostrils flared. It was just a spark, a momentary flash, but brief emotion was there – anger. She'd hit her mark, maybe more sharply than she'd expected. "Careful, Cleric," she whispered. Their eyes locked for a moment, like a predator and its prey, just waiting for the pounce. The feeling was electric and pierced the Prozium fog and Kate inexplicably thought of Jack and the looks he gave her just after he stopped dosing. Those looks that led to touching…and more. She blinked first and turned away. Jack was taken from her, tortured, and incinerated by clerics. Maybe even by this very man.

"Get out," she allowed herself to say with a full sneer and all the venom she could muster.

His eyes narrowed. "You're not untouchable."

"For you, I may as well be on the moon."

"I will find out what you're hiding, and I will be there when you are brought to justice."


	5. Chapter 5

IV - Now

John Preston had never felt so tired in his entire life. It wasn't simply a physical exhaustion – training in the Tetragrammaton monastery since he could walk gave him the ability to push his body to the very limit and beyond – but lethargy, sapping his very will to move. Before the ascension of Father and his philosophy of a sensation-free society, it could have described as being soul-weary.

But he was also satisfied. The ground was shaken beneath him, every foundation he'd been weaned upon had crumbled to dust, what was to be the future of Libria remained a mystery; but he had given them a chance, one that he hoped wouldn't be squandered. It was a chance that had been paid for by the blood of those that refused to give up their humanity and by his own broken heart.

The sounds of a war drifted up to him as he stood in former-Vice-Council DuPont's office, watching the midday sun shine on an entirely new Libria. If given the chance to really think about it, Preston might have admitted to being afraid of this change. It's often difficult to break the status quo, but, as he had painfully come to learn, change is inevitable.

Turning his back on the window, he exited the office, moving quick and alert down to the Tetragrammaton headquarters. The war was not going to be won overnight; while Jurgen was confident in the basic human nature of his fellow citizens, Preston had first-hand knowledge of Cleric nature – unrelenting and uncompromising. Some would be dispatched to neutralize the threats around the city, some would stay behind, but they would not give up without a fight.

Down five flights of stairs…though a door…around a corner. A Cleric Second Class jogged towards him with bright eyes that would be complete panic without his Interval.

"Cleric!" the young man hailed with a raised hand. "Do you know – " His words died with him as the bullet entered his brain.

Preston felt a strange mixture of feeling as he moved past the body: guilt over the man's death mingled with disgust at his lack of reflexes.

At the sound of approaching voices, he stowed his gun and marched with purpose towards the oncoming cluster of sweepers. Not letting his expression falter an inch, he nodded to the leader as he passed them. Only the trailing soldier turned back in curiosity, but by that time, Preston had disappeared down an adjoining corridor.

On the street, the chaos was deafening. A woman screamed as she charged him holding only a common kitchen utensil. He easily grabbed her arm and slammed her face-first into the building. She let out a painful cry.

"I mean you no harm," he whispered into her ear.

She gave a small gasp and tried looking at him over her shoulder. "What?"

He loosened his grip and she twisted away. "Get off the street before you come face-to-face with a real Cleric. It's not safe out here."

A mad laugh escaped her lips. "Are you crazy?! We've played it safe for too long." She backed up a few paces and then turned around, running down the street screaming, "Freedom of feeling, or death!"

As she disappeared into a raging crowd, sounds of screams drew his attention further up the block. A unit of sweepers stood atop their vehicle spraying bullets in a three-meter radius. Crumpled bodies lay in a circle around the white vehicle while those that still managed were running for cover, though many not quickly enough.

Preston took a deep breath as he removed both guns and sprinted towards the truck. By the time he was spotted he was laying cover fire in mid-somersault before landing on the roof in a low crouch. Three men fell over the side.

The remaining sweepers spun around to bring him into their sights, but they were far too slow.

The fleeing citizens turned back as the guns fell silent, only to see the retreating white back of their savior.

Preston's head began to throb as he replayed the same scenarios over and over again – disarming when possible, lethal when necessary. He relieved sweepers of their weapons to replenish the ammunition used to slaughter them. He moved in a straight line like a shark pursuing its prey. None escaped his path and frequent cheers rang out in his wake. Only when he turned the final corner that revealed his building did the headache begin to subside. Yet he was not home free.

"Cleric John Preston!" called a dark figure standing next to the steps to the apartment complex. The man wearing a Cleric First Class uniform stood ramrod straight with his hands clasped behind his back, one holding a gun, no doubt. While it was not an offensive position, it was far from safe.

Preston thumbed the weapon in his right hand to Semi, knowing he was frighteningly low on ammo, while walking calmly across the quiet street around cars that were abandoned with doors flung wide and bodies dotted around them. As he stepped onto the curb to face the intruder he said coolly, "I'm afraid you have me at a disadvantage." He sidestepped into position before the Cleric with a mind to draw him away from his home.

The Cleric replied, "Names are irrelevant at this point. Your reputation simply precedes you," he said in an attempt to sound relaxed and unhurried.

"You don't need to do this."

"You are a traitor and a sense offender. You need to be brought to justice."

Preston shook his head, weary from the same propaganda. "Whose justice?"

"Father's, of course. It's people like you we've been trying to protect Libria from for all these years, and now you take Father's teachings and use it against us. You're the worst kind of sense offender, one who should know better."

While Preston listened to the spewed dogma, his intuition listened as well. A hint of desperation, eyes twitching to the left indicating falsehood. "When was your last dose?"

The Cleric's face faltered for the first time. "Last evening. But I'll refill after I'm done with you."

"Father and Libria are dead. You can clutch at the corpse and die with it for all I care…" He lifted his weapon causing the Cleric to pull his own out as a reflex. "…but I'm done with it." Preston relaxed his hand and the gun clattered at his feet. Instinctively, the other man's eyes followed it.

The first rule of the Grammaton Cleric is to use every opportunity to your advantage, even confusion. Using the brief moment of distraction, Preston launched himself up into a spin kick. The Cleric's head snapped back, though he retained hold of his weapon. As his feet touched the ground, Preston landed directly in front of but facing away from the other man. His right arm wrapped around the other's as he simultaneously bent it back, applied pressure to the man's spine with his elbow, and kicked his feet out from under him. They landed in an ungraceful heap with Preston on top. He twisted the arm even further until the gun was released into his hand. The entire move had taken less than six seconds and caused no broken bones.

Still holding the Cleric down, Preston snarled, "You have a choice. Take your place in the new order and live, or serve your dead master and die along side him." He placed the gun at the base of the man's skull. "But you will not stop the inevitable."

"I…" the Cleric stammered.

"What!" Preston growled in his ear.

"I…don't want to die."

For a moment Preston almost pitied the man. He stood up and waited for the Cleric to pull himself together, watching as he brushed the detritus of the street from his black frock.

When they locked eyes, Preston said, "Consider this your stay of execution." He flipped the gun in his hand and held it handle-out for the other man to take. Then he retrieved his own weapon.

"You're just going to trust me?"

"Is there any reason not to?"

"No. No, there's not."

"What's your name?"

"Anders. Sir."

Preston nodded. "As of this moment, Anders, you are my right hand man."

"Sir?"

Allowing himself a slight smile, Preston said, "You don't expect me to keep peace in this city alone, do you?"

"No, I suppose not."

"Go home. Tomorrow I want you to meet me at Section C-12, Block 42. Wait outside and keep your hands visible at all times. We have a lot of work to do." Preston looked up into the sky, which was turning a vibrant shade of lilac as the sun descended further below the horizon. As he put a foot on the bottom step he turned and said, "If you betray me I'll rip your heart out with my bare hand."

Without waiting for a reply, he entered the building and jogged purposefully up the ten flights of stairs, his heart growing lighter with each floor. Tomorrow he would help rebuild the city, but right now he only had one goal: being with his children.

At the door, he paused gazing down at himself. The white tunic was stained with blood; though most of it was not his he didn't want to frighten them. Quickly his fingers unhooked the buttons and he ripped it off, balling it up with the guns inside. Taking a calming breath, he opened the door.

He was greeted immediately by a chorus of cheers, yells, and barks. The dog ran circles around his legs yipping happily, while Lisa threw herself at him, wrapping her arms around his waist. Robbie stood afar, with only the slightest smile on his lips. "Welcome home, John," he said evenly.

Preston looked around, the commotion jarring his senses and at the same time making his heart pound. He dropped to one knee and scooped Lisa into his arms. "I missed you, Daddy," she whispered to him. Breath caught in his throat as he placed a hand on her head. "I missed you too," he said in a weak, shaky voice, though he was not sure if it were possible to miss something you never knew you had. He raised his eyes to his son and held out his hand. For too many years the boy had had to play the stoic; his response was slow and worry washed over his face, but he eventually moved into his father's embrace. "Thank you," Preston whispered into his ear. "Thank you for taking care of her. Of both of you."

Robbie pulled away slightly. "I did what I had to. You should go clean yourself up," he declared in his usual tone, the one he'd used all these years to keep Preston off guard, and away from suspicion. He marveled at how well it had worked, now that he knew the truth.

With a wry chuckle, Preston said, "Yes, you're right," and reluctantly released his children. Seizing the opportunity, the mutt leaped up onto his lap and began fiercely licking him. "Not now," he tried to sound firm, but only found himself laughing and he pushed the dog away and stood up. "Have you named him yet?" he asked Lisa.

Solemnly she looked up at him and nodded. "His name is Frère."

"Really?" Preston asked perplexed. Lisa simply nodded with no further explanation. Robbie just shook his head and sighed. "Very well, Frère it is." He reached down and scratched the dog's head. "Your job is simple, my friend: you are to bring my children nothing but happiness." Lisa jumped up and down, clapping her hands, then she threw her arms around the dog in an expression of pure love. A small shadow fell across Preston's face as remembered the blood that had been shed over the animal. That was in the past, he reminded himself, but he knew that in the interest of preserving peace, exceptions always had to be made. And he feared he would be the one to make them.


End file.
